A consecrated ground, where stone dreams in secret and metal remembers the forge of stars. A fragment of ancient song, a vessel of silent storms, a sigil of forgotten gods.
These are not adornments, but companions—each chosen, each willed, each alive.

Touch them not with idle hands.
Touch them with the part of you that remembers.
The part that listens beyond sound, that sees beyond light.

Every piece a sigil. Every offering a gate. What you touch here, touches you in return.